presents
walking
IIt’s still dawn, the darkness slowly gives in on the horizon, the sun already in sight behind the mountain. The keen fresh air announces the arrival of a new winter. I tied my boots tight and filled my hiking backpack. Elisa is waiting for me down in the valley. I haven’t seen her in almost seven years and this opportunity to catch up is exciting. We will take the same walk that first marked our friendship, step after step, all those summers before I moved overseas. She was born in this valley and, unlike me, chose to stay here. Together with her, I spent my best holidays and learned to appreciate every season, every colour, every silence.
The mountain is not just climbing peaks or wondering whether there’ll be snow this year.
It is about going forward, without stopping, to your destination and stopping to go back when you can no longer go forward.
As I think about it, I wonder: “How will the years have passed for her? How will she see me? Will I still feel my heart beating a bit faster, and that subtle desire to just stand there and watch her in silence? And to listen to her for hours?”
There she is, waiting for me. Smiling, joyful, peaceful. With the same quietness as always. Time has changed her, but her legs are still muscular: she hasn’t given up on hiking. She hasn’t given up on enjoying every experience to the fullest. What I’ve always envied about her is that she never let herself be carried away by the frenzy of a hectic life.
We hug and burst out laughing. And then onward, towards the same old path: step after step, we find once again the same intimacy, the same harmony. Turning left, we climb towards the pass: the valley floor offers us meadows still in bloom and stacks of logs that perfume the forest. As we walk, we slowly find our memories and overcome the initial embarrassment over our looks.
To climb to the top, we take a trail that crosses a wide basin. Here, the landscape changes: after passing a narrow wooden bridge, we encounter walls of rock and a mule track that goes up the ridge, skirting deep chasms. I slow down my pace: looking down I can follow the route with my eyes. At times it looks bolder, like its edges, at times gentler, like the pastures through which it climbs. Among stones and rocks, which at this height begin to dominate the view, the white flowers of a little queen peek out: rare and precious, Achillea Moscata emits a delicate scent. Elisa is a little queen to me: now that I’ve seen her, I’m sure of it. But I’ll never have the nerve to tell her.
We proceed on almost flat terrain, on a stony side. The colours are wonderful. Herbs, berries and roots scent the air, with hints of gentian, wood, and juniper. Now the trail is only a very narrow trace. This is where the last part of the climb begins: we follow the grassy ridge and we will reach the top shortly. We explore, accelerate, stop for a moment: each step leads us to what we will find at the top.
the sighting of a magnificent specimen of ibex that appears out of nowhere. It lets us get closer, then disappears behind a cliff.
It’s the same with Elisa, I’ve experienced it many times: I got closer to her, only to see her move away in an instant. The climb is tiring but soon we will forget all the fatigue that weighs down our legs.
When we arrive at the mountain hut, our destination lies in front of us: the view of the great glacier dominated by the peaks, which strikes you with its beauty.
And here we can finally find comfort with a steaming dish of Valtellina pizzoccheri, the local pasta specialty.
Then, as Attilia pours the amaro into our glasses, we discover another story that has a lot to do with time. This liqueur, she explains, was aged underground in the ancient cellars of Bormio. A real maze of corridors and rooms that wind underneath the streets of the town, where it must age for at least two years. And it is precisely the ageing process in the cellar that creates its unique flavour: there, inside Slavonian oak barrels, the aromas of berries, herbs and roots collected in the heart of the mountain merge until they turn into a special bitter taste.
This makes me think that the most extraordinary things always stem from a long wait.
I’ve come here for so many years, but I didn’t know this story.
this is a moment that must be experienced slowly. I wish it would never end.
Returning to the town, before saying goodbye, walking along the main street, I try to picture the centuries-old cellars running under me, hiding their secret made of aromatic herbs collected in the mountains. I think that the mountain holds so many secrets. It’ll keep mine forever, too.